


Game

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Light Bondage, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Orgasm Delay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:18:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'I want you to say my name. There a problem with that?'" Justin decides he's not going to say Giriko's name and Giriko decides otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game

Giriko’s favorite thing about Justin is how  _skinny_  the blond is. He has a long list of favorite things, if he’s honest, and they tend to change day-to-day depending on what is currently going on, but at the moment, with Justin stretched out on top of him on the couch cushions, he’s particularly appreciative of the other’s lack of mass. It makes movement easy, so he can twist a hand up under the priest’s shirt to stroke against bare skin while Justin’s mouth is still against the line of his jaw. The priest squirms and laughs against him, and Giriko grins and pulls him in closer.

“You wanna move to the bedroom?” he asks, and Justin’s fingers scrape gently across the back of his neck.

“You wanna carry me there?” he offers in return.

Giriko rolls them both sideways off the couch by answer. Justin grunts at the impact as they land, but Giriko’s already coming up to his knees, and the blond maintains his hold around the chainsaw’s neck so he lifts Justin as he gets to his feet.

“You’re so fucking light,” he purrs against Justin’s neck. The priest lets his head drop sideways and hums in appreciation or acknowledgment or both; Giriko’s not entirely sure which is winning out and doesn’t care. “And after I’ve been feeding you for months now.”

“Maybe you’re just getting used to carrying me,” Justin offers, hitching himself forward against Giriko’s waist as the other man starts to move down the hallway. Giriko has to pause to lean them both against the wall -- not from any need to adjust his hold but just so he can press the blond hard against the surface and bite at the pulse in his neck.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says, but the words are mostly lost to the heat of the blond’s skin, and Justin groans so Giriko’s fairly certain he’s lost the thread of the conversation anyway. The chainsaw sets his mouth against Justin’s neck, and Justin tightens his hold around Giriko’s shoulders, and Giriko stumbles them down the hallway until they can drop onto the bed.

Justin is smiling when he pulls back to look at the blond’s face, his blue eyes hazy and out-of-focus with pleasure, and when Giriko drags his fingers around the priest’s back to skim across his stomach he shudders under the touch.

“You’re wearing too much,” Giriko mumbles, shoving Justin’s shirt up higher on his chest so he can lick across the blond’s chest. He can feel the priest’s sharp inhale and the burst of half-voiced laughter he gets in response buzzing under his mouth, and Justin’s fingers come up to lace into his hair before the other speaks.

“You say that every time, Giri,” Justin purrs. “Maybe I should just give up on clothes entirely.”

“You  _should_ ,” Giriko says before his brain has fully caught up to the name the other used. He’s halfway through scraping the edge of his teeth over Justin’s ribcage when the realization kicks in, and he comes up to see the blond’s face properly. “Wait,  _Giri_?”

Justin has his eyes shut, and he’s still taking funny shuddering breaths that Giriko can see flutter under his skin and in his throat, but as the chainsaw speaks a smile starts to curl against his lips in spite of the priest’s efforts to restrain it. “What’s the problem?”

“Since when do you call me  _Giri_?”

“Ah.” Justin opens his eyes to make a face of feigned concentration at the ceiling. “Hm. Perhaps five minutes? Why, don’t you like it?”

“What’s wrong with my actual name?” Giriko is still up on his knees, but he’s fitting his fingers between Justin’s hips and the waistband of the blond’s pants, and the priest rocks up off the mattress to meet the touch while still maintaining that expression of acute focus on the question.

“Mm, I just wanted to try a pet name.” Giriko’s fingers dip down lower and Justin stutters and takes a startled breath. When he speaks again his voice is in a higher range. “Cute, isn’t it?”

“I don’t want you to call me something  _cute_ ,” Giriko hisses, but he’s grinning in spite of himself as Justin’s fingers clench desperately at his hair and the blond bucks up against his hand again. He’s not even  _touching_  him properly yet. “I want you to say my  _name_. There a problem with that?”

“There  _is_ ,” Justin manages, although he still sounds strained, and when Giriko presses his fingers against the blond’s length his words cut off somewhat more sharply than he intended. “I don’t  _want_  to.”

“That  _is_  a problem,” Giriko growls. He brings his other hand around to unfasten the front of the other’s pants while still reaching for the minimal contact he can get with the fabric closed. “What’re we gonna do about that?” He gets Justin’s pants open and reaches down for the fly of his own jeans one-handed; he tugs the priest’s clothes down off his hips with his other so he can wrap his fingers around the blond’s length.

Justin groans and arches back on the mattress, pressing himself up against Giriko’s touch, and the chainsaw grins at his responsiveness in spite of the sparking irritation pulling the expression sharp and vicious on his lips. He’s opening his mouth to offer some flippant comment when an idea offers itself and his words die in his throat.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says aloud. “Oh this is  _great_.” He reaches out with his free hand to grab at Justin’s wrist and bring it up over the blond’s head, jerking hard against the other’s length as he moves so Justin mewls and wiggles under him. Giriko’s not sure if he’s protesting the sensation or begging for more, but when the chainsaw lets go entirely to grab at the priest’s other wrist Justin’s whine removes any uncertainty from the situation.

“ _Hey_ ,” he says, rocking up against the chainsaw’s hip. “What are you  _doing_?”

“Solving the problem,” Giriko offers as a total lack of an answer. Justin huffs an exasperated sigh and Giriko grins as he calls up his weapon-form chains to his hands to wrap around the blond’s wrists. Justin drops back to the mattress and tips his head up to see what the other is doing in response to the chill of metal against his skin, and Giriko feels the shudder of anticipation run through the other even before the blond speaks.

“How is this solving the problem?” His voice is calm and steady in spite of the speed of his breathing, like he’s asking for clarification of a minor detail. Still, when Giriko pulls one wrist out over his head Justin leaves his other still and patient while the chainsaw loops the metal around the head of the bed and reaches to do the same with the priest’s other wrist.

He doesn’t speak until he’s finishing the second attachment, so the worst he’s going to have to deal with are Justin’s legs. “You’re don’t wanna say my name.” He grabs the edge of Justin’s pants and slides them the rest of the way off to drop to the floor. “I  _do_  want you to.” He comes down off the end of the bed and kicks his own jeans off before walking around the bed to fish through the drawer next to the mattress. Justin tips his head to watch him move but he’s not protesting or fighting, just lying flat on the bed with his arms stretched out over his head.

“And you let me tie your hands down,” Giriko continues as he comes back with the bottle of lube in his hand. Justin’s eyebrows go up and he coughs a laugh, but he’s still not struggling at all, even when Giriko comes back in between his legs and opens the bottle one-handed. “So here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna do whatever I want to you --” He pauses to slick liquid over his fingers to illustrate and Justin licks his lower lip, quick and involuntary. “But I’m not gonna get you off unless you do what I want.”

Justin laughs again, bright and delighted, and when he tugs at the chain it’s more to make a point than any actual resistance. “Simplistic of you.”

“Ah, well.” Giriko pushes Justin’s legs open and slides his slippery fingers down along the blond’s thigh. He can feel the shake of adrenaline under Justin’s skin as he moves, and he doesn’t bother to hold back the responsive grin of his own. “I’m a simple guy. ‘S long as it works, right?”

“I suppose so,” Justin allows, and Giriko slides two fingers just inside him. He can see the focus evaporate off the blond’s face just before he spits, “ _Fuck_ ,” and shifts against the intrusion. “You’re -- you’re starting fast, aren’t you?”

“Simple,” Giriko repeats, watching Justin’s blue eyes go unfocused on the ceiling as he carefully comes in deeper. “Not patient. Thought you knew that by now.”

Justin laughs and Giriko can feel the ripple of amusement through his body. “I suppose I did.”

“Answered yourself,” Giriko observes. He eases his fingers in farther, pausing when Justin hisses although he’s not sure if it’s in pain or pleasure or both. “Should really think that through.”

“Next time,” Justin promises, though he’s slightly breathless. “I will, next time.”

“Not giving in, are you?” Giriko asks, although he knows Justin isn’t, so the shake of the blond head is no surprise at all.

“I’m stubborn.” Justin blinks and tips his head sideways so he can shoot a grin at the chainsaw. “You should know that by now.”

Giriko grins. “Yeah, I do.” He comes in the last span and pauses for a moment to give Justin a moment to adjust. “It’ll be more fun this way.”

“Glad I can amuse you,” Justin says, lilting the words into a decent approximation of sincerity, and when Giriko starts to drag his fingers back out satisfaction is clearly winning out in his sigh. “It’s what I live for.”

“I know,” Giriko grins, thrusting his fingers forward again, and Justin rocks into the movement as much as his tied wrists will let him. “And yet you won’t do this one thing for me.”

“What thing?” Justin asks. “Oh, your  _name_? That  _is_  a little thing, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Giriko curls his fingers against Justin and the priest hisses and his feet slide for purchase on the mattress to press into the chainsaw’s fingers. “Just say it and I’ll go down on you right now.”

“Eh.” Justin’s tone conveys all the attitude of a shrug even though he can’t manage the actual motion at present. “Tempting but not tempting enough.”

“You just want me to fuck you,” Giriko guesses, and Justin laughs but doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to anyway; Giriko can see his skin sparkling damp with desperate sweat as the chainsaw moves his hand and he can feel the jerk of response in the blond’s body even when it’s not enough to be visible. “At least we can agree on that.” He sits up so his weight is over his knees, brings his free hand to stroke over his own length while he opens Justin up one-handed, and the priest tips his head down to watch the movement of the older man’s hand as best he can with his arms pulled up over his head.

“I could just jerk off over you,” Giriko considers aloud. Justin jerks against the restraints and hisses in the negative, and the chainsaw grins at the reaction. “See, it’s almost worth it just to watch you squirm. Would you stay stubborn?” He lets himself go, leans back down to hold himself up over Justin one-handed as he drags his fingers free and replaces his hold on himself with his lube-slick fingers. “Lucky for you I ain’t got patience for that.”

Justin laughs and tips his head in towards Giriko, and for all that he wants to drive the blond to distraction the older man can’t resist the offer of the other’s mouth. He comes in to kiss him, hard like he’s making up for the capitulation with intensity, and Justin sighs against his mouth until anticipation knots hard and tight at the base of Giriko’s spine.

He hesitates anyway, pulls back and holds himself up over Justin, looks down into the blond’s wide-eyed face while the moment pulls taut with expectation.

“You sure you don’t want to say it?” he asks.

Justin grins, and Giriko knows he’s going to refuse before he even hears it. The teasing sharpness of Justin’s teeth under his lips is answer enough. He growls, drowning out the priest’s response into unintelligibility, and fits himself one-handed against Justin’s body so he can push forward and inside in a slow thrust.

There’s a moment -- there’s always a moment -- when Giriko loses track of whatever game they’re playing, forgets the rules and the unspoken understanding and just  _feels_  all through his skin and bone. He drops his weight down onto the mattress this time, presses Justin into the give of the bed with his own mass, and his mouth lands against Justin’s neck without the intention of a kiss behind it. It’s just  _contact_ , sensation for his mouth like the heat that flares into his skin where it’s pressed into the other’s body, and Justin sighs and doesn’t move and he’s still almost painfully tight around Giriko. The chainsaw takes a breath, and his head clears enough to recall the game, and he shifts his mouth to bite against Justin’s skin. He’s not sure he breaks through to blood, but Justin gasps and twists involuntarily against the chains and around Giriko, and the older man grins and comes up onto an elbow so he can actually move.

They’re close enough that each thrust forward of Giriko’s hips drags a little friction against Justin’s own cock, but it makes the blond hiss and rock up for more, so Giriko doesn’t pull away since it seems to be serving his purpose. He starts slow and unusually careful, finding a slow rhythm that makes Justin whine, and doesn’t speak until he has it fixed in his head, until the movement is steady and slow enough that he’ll have some time before it’s too much for him to stand.

“Just fucking say it, Justin,” he hisses against blond hair. “I don’t have any problem saying  _your_  name.”

Justin tips his head in until his cheek is lying warm against Giriko’s, until the chainsaw can hear each panting breath he takes, and purrs, “No,” like he’s telling a secret.

“Fuck you,” Giriko offers in return. “You just like teasing me.”

A laugh. “I  _do_.”

Giriko grunts in what is almost a chuckle before he catches the sound back. “You’re such a little shit.”

“You like it.” Justin sounds breathy but his words are still coming clear and coherent. “Don’t lie,  _Giri_.”

Giriko thrusts forward hard and out-of-rhythm so Justin’s voice cuts off in a shocked exhale. He doesn’t offer a denial, but he does work his hand down between their bodies to brush against Justin’s cock. The priest whines and laughs at once, rocks up into Giriko’s hand, and when the chainsaw closes his fingers around the other’s length he sighs in satisfaction.

“Are you giving up?” he asks.

Giriko doesn’t answer. He keeps his head close to Justin’s mouth, shuts his eyes, and keeps the steady pattern of his hips forward into the blond while he finds a different rhythm for his hand. Justin is already breathing faster than usual; after that first reaction and the question he stays quiet, but Giriko can hear the pant under his inhales in spite of the priest’s attempts to hide it.

Justin does a better job than Giriko expects. He thinks he’s still got a couple minutes to work him up to the edge before easing off when the sound of the other’s breathing goes resonant with pleasure, and Giriko barely has time to pull his hand free and come up on his elbows before Justin trembles under him with the tension of approaching orgasm.

“ _Fuck_ ,” the priest spits, actual frustration in the word, and pushes up uselessly against the air. “Fu _ck_  don’t  _stop_   _fuck_  you.” He’s shaking and hissing, trying to arch up or twist sideways for any sort of friction at all, and Giriko tries to catch his breath back from panic himself.

After a moment he can muster a grin and a shaky laugh. “You almost got me,” he offers as congratulations. “You weren’t supposed to get that close.”

Justin groans. “I was going to win, you know.”

“Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that.” Giriko waits while the blond’s breathing evens out a little before he comes back in over Justin and thrusts into him again. He keeps his hands on the mattress, but even the minimal friction of his body against the blond’s length is enough to get the priest to groan. “Just give up, man. Blowjobs are off the table but I could still jerk you off while fucking you. It wouldn’t take long, would it?” He brings his fingers in to stroke against Justin’s neck and the priest shudders through his whole body and shuts his eyes. “I bet I could get my fingers around you and it’d be enough.”

Justin tries to speak but it comes out as a whine. He shuts his mouth around the sound, takes a hard breath through his nose, and manages, “Fuck you. I’m stubborn, I told you.”

“Or I could let one of your hands free,” Giriko goes on in total disregard of Justin’s words. “You could get your fingers down around yourself, you wouldn’t even care right now would you.” He pulls away from Justin’s neck, reaches down to brush the very tips of his fingers over the blond’s cock, and Justin inhales so hard the sound sobs in his throat. “It’s just my fucking name, you’ve said it before.”

Justin groans, but it sounds more like the last dregs of resistance than capitulation and Giriko pulls his hand away. The blond shuts his eyes and bites his lip like he’s trying to keep himself quiet through physical force. Giriko braces himself against the mattress, and shifts the angle of his hips, and when he thrusts in Justin gasps and jerks hard so the link of the chains grate on each other as he pulls them taut.

“Oh  _god_ ,” he groans. Giriko laughs sharp and sets his hand against Justin’s hip to hold the other still while he rocks forward.

“Close,” he purrs. “Keep going,  _Justin_ , keep going and I’ll touch you.” Justin is trembling underneath him and around him -- Giriko can feel the shake of reaction all through his body uncontrolled and desperate.

“Fuck,” Justin says again. “ _Fuck_.” He arches up again and Giriko leans back and away to dodge the contact and Justin drops back to the mattress with a sob of air. The older man comes forward again hard, and Justin whimpers, and opens his eyes, and says, “ _Okay_  okay Giriko  _please_.”

Giriko laughs, the flush of victory rushing hot over his skin, and shifts his weight sideways so he can reach down to wrap his fingers around Justin’s cock. The priest groans, the tension in his body evaporating at the other man’s touch, and when Giriko thrusts into him and jerks his hand hard over Justin’s length the younger man shudders and comes across the flat of his stomach. Giriko can feel his body tense with the wave of pleasure, and between the friction of Justin around him and the heat of winning spilling through his thoughts and the way Justin is moaning “Giriko, Giriko,  _Giriko_ ,” like he’s making up for lost time it’s only a handful of breaths before he’s following Justin over the edge.

Giriko ends up with his mouth against Justin’s neck, the same spot where he bit before; from the blood-metallic taste he  _did_  break the skin, but when he licks Justin tips his head and sighs in satisfaction. A moment later Giriko remembers to let the chains evaporate and Justin curves one arm over the chainsaw’s shoulders, lets the weight hang on the other man like he’s struggling to keep his arm up at all.

“I won,” Giriko finally says without moving.

Justin laughs over his head. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure you did.” The words are condescending in his mouth but Giriko lacks the energy to really protest. He growls and bites again, more gently this time, and Justin laughs and shifts into a more comfortable angle under him.


End file.
